


sharing needles with the sky

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, Circa Season 3, F/M, M/M, Master/Pet Dynamics, Poor Craig O'Laughlin, Purgatory, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Harm, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 12:11:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8713465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: He was human before Red John twisted and sullied his soul into someone, who he doesn’t even recognize in the mirror anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I would apologize for all of the angsty/dark fics lately, but that would mean that I'd actually need to regret writing them first. ;) I'd like to give a shout out to a good friend, who gave me an alternative meaning to the prompt: "purgatory". Written for my H/C Bingo Prompt: Purgatory.

Maybe, he thinks, he could have grown to love her. In a different life, he thinks, she would have been _perfect_ for him—a ray of sunshine, a shooting star in the nighttime, a fresh breath of air. Instead, she is _just_ poison—a slow trickle of poison, that he just knows, will eventually be the death of him.

            None-the-less, he continues to play with fire. He romances her, kisses away her stresses and infuriates her ex, by continuing to give the things Wayne Rigsby _never_ could. All the while, he listens to the whispers and murmurs of Red John and knows—the man with the red smile isn’t patient and he certainly doesn’t share.

 

            Red John tells him to kill her—to string her organs from beam to beam of Patrick Jane’s little attic—but Craig O’Laughlin begs Red John to wait, as he’s down on his knees and sucking his master’s cock. Red John grabs his hair roughly and forces him to suck, until he’s dry and until the simple request is assented.

            “I suppose so,” Red John agrees, softly, shoving him backwards before the corner of his lips upturn. “But _however_ will you thank me for sparing her life, my pet?” Without glancing upwards, O’Laughlin gets on all fours, spreads his legs, and patiently waits. “There’s my good boy.”

 

            Maybe, he thinks, he’s meant to be nothing more than Red John’s pet. When he’s not with Grace, soothing her fears of _not being a good enough agent_ or solving a case for the FBI, while resisting the urge to strangle his boss—he’s with Red John. _Red John_ , who enjoys fucking him in front of Lorelei Martins and Timothy Carter. _Red John_ , who collars him the moment after he’s laid with Grace as a _reminder of who he is_. But honestly, he doesn’t even _know_ who he is anymore. He was a man of the Lord, before Red John took him in at the age of twenty-five. He was _human_ before Red John twisted and sullied his soul into someone, who _he_ doesn’t even recognize in the mirror anymore. Someone, who has lived _fifteen years_ of horrors—between the bloodlettings and the sexual entreats and the ceremonies of loyalty to Red John—just to be sentenced to death at the very end of it all.  

 

            “Are you alright, Craig?” Grace asks him, the night after he proposed to her, as they lie together. He feels her fingers skittering across one of his many scars left by Red John and he just _loses_ it. He grabs her by her throat and pins her beneath him, forcing himself upon her until she’s a sobbing mess, trickling red from between her legs, and he’s _so_ numb that all he can do is say _I’m sorry. I am so sorry_. _I am sorry, Grace. I would never hurt you_ as he cradles her in his arms and kisses her forehead.

 

Maybe, he thinks, as he stares at himself in the mirror and presses the gun to his head, he could have loved her.


End file.
